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[ahmementos]

Remember To Forget

I think at this point the retelling of RE 6 has been done in abundance but I never did it, hence this drabble.

He had been told Chris didn’t remember anything.  “I think I’d remember a hot piece like yourself.”  To hear Chris refer to him as a hot piece was wild.  

Leon was almost regretting being sent in on the assignment.  He had been assigned to guard detail for the President for so long that, after assuring the detail taking over for him was competent, he leapt at the chance to get out of the US and breathe. 

“If you did, you’d realize that is not something you’d call me.”  Leon tipped the whiskey glass back and swallowed down its contents.  “Ever.”  

Whether or not he’d like for Chris to call him that was irrelevant; Chris didn’t know who he was at that particular moment and Leon wasn’t going to pretend Chris felt that way when he was himself .  He stared at the man he’d been tasked to bring back, a man the BSAA didn’t want to trigger by sending in his squad unless they absolutely had to.  I’ve met him once, was Leon’s response, but he went anyway, following intel to the bar he’d heard Chris had practically been living at.  

“Then losing my memory was the best damn thing for me, especially right now.”  Chris had been looking him over since the conversation had been initiated, if Leon was being honest but at that moment?  If Chris could have devoured him with his gaze, he would have.

Chris hadn’t shaved in at least a month and his appearance was far from the clean cut soldier he tended to present himself as.  Leon couldn’t even say his disheveled appearance or the fact that he smelled like he bathed in alcohol before heading to the bar was a turn off.  That said more about his own tastes than it did Chris’, didn’t it?

“And the minute you get your memory back, you will regret having those thoughts.”  He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but Leon was already regretting having the thoughts he was having about a man who didn’t remember who he was, let alone who Leon was to him… which was nothing.  Claire’s friend, fellow survivor of Raccoon City; that’s who Leon was.

Chris didn’t even blink.  “Well you could fuck me, and see if that jogs my memory.”  His eyes never left Leon’s as he took another drink.  “Unless you really aren’t invested in bringing me back in like my alleged superiors want.”

“Aha.”  More a statement than an actual laugh, more a deflection than an admission of desire, Leon leaned back in his chair and did his best not to lick his lips.  “Even if I thought that was a good idea, you are too drunk to honestly consent to that.”

Chris tipped the bottle of whiskey against Leon’s glass and filled it up.  “Then you get drunk with me,” he offered as a faulty compromise.  “Then we both can make stupid choices.”

“A man who’s still too sober for his own good, trying to make a deal like that.”  The glass lifted in Leon’s hand and tilted against his lips.  

Chris offered a lazy half smile.  “Your room or mine?”

*

No one drunk off their ass could ravage another person so expertly.  Skilled fingers made short work of buttons and zippers on pants  Calloused palms smoothed Leon’s shirt up and over his head.  He knew being a functional alcoholic was possible - ask him how he knew - but Chris was making him feel like he had a lot more to learn about the title if he wanted to be the reigning DSO ‘ drunk at work and no one can tell’ champ.  Either that or Chris wasn’t as drunk as he was pretending.

“I better not find out later-” Leon tried to speak but the mouth back on his silenced further protest.  He didn’t want to find out later that Chris was faking being drunk because that meant he went along with this game willingly, because he wanted to fuck him.  The affair was only okay if it meant nothing.

The neon sign just outside the window illuminated Chris’ face when he pulled back.  “Stop thinking,” he whispered, words spoken against Leon’s jaw and brushed against the shell of Leon’s ear.  

All Leon could do was nod; every one of his senses were being overloaded by a man he wasn’t sure was even drunk.

Chris told him to stop thinking but all Leon could do was think, think about the real reasons why he jumped at the chance to come try to save someone he only met once .  Obligation to Claire, obligation to the country, or was it because meeting Chris Redfield one time had the man on his brain more times than he cared to admit?  Ultimately, he wanted to know how those rough work worn hands felt against his skin, against each and every scar his own line of work had given him.  As Chris’ fingers mapped along a healed over bullet wound on his shoulder, he could confirm it felt amazing.

“This your first?”  The strength that Chris expended to hoist Leon up on the bare topped dresser was impressive, him sliding between Leon’s parted thighs even more so.  “With a guy?”

Leon answered by hoisting a leg up so that his hand could make contact with the pockets and slap a packet of lube against his chest.  “No.”  

Every inch closer Chris pressed against him was almost too much, and the sight of him tearing into a packet of lube with his teeth was even more so.  “Always prepared or were you hoping it’d go this way?”

Like the good little whore he’d been told he was on more occasions than he cared to count, he answered with more of a moan than he wanted to.  “Always prepared.”  Words breathed out when slicked fingers slipped inside him.  “Not complaining that it’s going this way, though.”

“Are we enemies?”  Chris’ words were hushed against Leon’s skin as he worked him open with a gentleness that was what Leon expected from the boy scout, but not from the amnesiac rough around the edges man he’d found at the bar.  “Battle buddies?  Wingmen?  Am I dick deep in pussy when I’m not out saving the world instead of between these perfect fucking thighs?”

“None of the above, s’far as I know.”  Leon shook his head, then let it fall back against the wall.  “If you ever thought about me like this, you kept that shit to yourself.”  

Chris slowly withdrew his fingers.  “I don’t guess amnesia stops the body’s natural desires.”  The space wasn’t left empty for long, just long enough to slick up his cock and gently press inside.  “If my old memories come back and erase this, remind me I said that shit about being between your thighs.”

Leon bit down on his bottom lip until Chris’ mouth offered assistance in muffling his unwanted noises.  One of two things was going to happen.  Getting off inside his tight ass was going to jog his memory or he was never going to remember this shit happened thanks to alcohol and Leon was never going to bring it up.  His nails sunk into Chris’ back, both out of response to the pace picking up and also to the thought of giving any of it up.  

If there was ever a moment Leon wished was at the bottom of every bottle he crawled into, it was that one.  He wanted every empty bottle of whiskey to lead to Chris Redfield being between his thighs, every last drop following every last orgasm the man could wrench out of his body by simply tilting his hips just right as he thrust deep inside.  

“The me you know is an idiot.”  He wanted the amnesiac Chris to sit down with real Chris and make fucking a normal part of their daily routine.  

Leon wanted to declare the Leon that Chris currently knew was the bigger idiot, getting tipsy enough to fuck without a second thought, but he was too busy thanking that same idiot for disregarding the moral implications of the scenario.  He just held on tighter, met Chris’ thrusts with his own, and let the world spiral away… 

*

Leon was gone before morning.  “Look he doesn’t remember me enough to click anything into place for him, okay?”  He wasn’t comfortable leaving his post with the President for long and he was definitely running from the case of feelings and emotions he caught with those warm arms curled around him in the middle of the night.  “You can probably send the BSAA team in and it would work better.”

“ He didn’t even remember you from the Terrasave party?”

He spoke softly as he crossed the airport towards his departing flight home.  “I did what I could but he definitely did not remember me.  He didn’t remember you either, Claire.”

“He’s an asshole like that, I guess.”

“All it proves is that we all spend too much time doing our jobs and not enough time being with the people we care about.”  Leon sucked at pep talks and cheering people up.  Claire knew this.  The fact that she was still sitting on the phone pretending he had some magical phrase to make it all better was telling of how upset she was.  “Tell BSAA he’s probably softened enough to take whatever intervention they have planned.”

“You make it sound like you fucked him into complacency.”

“A spy never tells his tactics and trade secrets.”  He was glad the phone didn’t convey the blush he knew was spreading across his cheeks.  “I have to board, Claire.  Send the BSAA in.  He’ll come around-”

“I want a big party, a real party, when whatever the hell this mess is gets cleared up.”

“Whatever you want,” he promised.  Always the needs of others, never his own.  His own needs would’ve had him saying to hell with the President and staying until Chris came around.  His own needs would’ve insisted Chris come back with him and they’d sort the amnesia out later.  

Claire wanted a party.  The President wanted his topman back on the job.  Whatever Leon wanted was irrelevant.

*

“So Ada’s not dead.”  

Leon had been doing his best to avoid Chris as much as possible since the missions got entwined.  “No… she’s definitely not dead.”  Now the man was blocking his escape from the med tent he’d just been checked out in.  “I’m sorry about Piers.”

Chris nodded and took a step closer, but didn’t quite crowd Leon's space.  “He was a good soldier who deserved better,” was all he said on the matter, quietly and solemnly.  

“We all deserve better.”  Leon stared at the table and his hands flat against it, anything so he didn’t have to look at Chris.  

“I was going to retire after this mission,” Chris confessed, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke on a subject he wasn’t sure Leon cared about.  “I remembered a guy I ran into when my head was a mess that I wanted to hunt down.  He had the most perfect thighs-”

Leon definitely couldn’t look at him after that omission.  “I’m supposed to say it was a mistake and that we were drunk and apologize, right?”  His breath caught in his throat as Chris crossed the distance between them.  “If you’re asking about Ada-”

Chris’ hand was so gentle as it tugged Leon’s chin in his direction so he was forced to give him eye contact.  “Only if you and Ada are an item and you were off having drunk affairs instead of actively giving in to something you wanted.”

“Ada is complicated but I wasn’t running from her that night.”  Leon’s eyes slowly shut as he leaned into Chris’ touch.  “You’re going to a joint operation after this, hm?”

“I’ll be gone long enough for us both to think about where we might go from here.”

“When do you leave?”

“Twelve hours.”

Leon’s hand slid down Chris’ chest, fingers left to hook around belt loops.  “Twelve hours is a long time.”  His other hand slipped into his pants pocket and pulled out a key card for his booked hotel for the night.  “Plenty of time to shower and decompress from one of the longest goddamn missions on record, if you want my professional opinion.”

“Your opinion is the only one I want to hear right now.”  He sealed the deal with a kiss, long and deep, his own hand wrapping possessively around Leon’s hand and the keycard that promised one night of bliss before it all went to shit again for both of them.

[ahmementos]

The Distracting Existence of Thighs Told In Three Parts

Hi, I'm alive. Quit smoking. 10/10 recommend never starting up. 0/10 to withdrawal but I think (read: hope) the worst is over. Have some literary offerings.

There was never a bad time to have a woman sit on your face.  

Carlos was sure that someone, somewhere, could make up a list, but he would argue back they were never blessed with the opportunity of having Jill Valentine’s thighs against each of their cheeks.  He was blessed with feeling the sheer power that coursed through the muscles that tightened as his tongue brought her to orgasm.  Each tremor as she rode those final waves of bliss was a godsend, each stroke of her fingers weakly through his curls a gift he didn’t deserve.  

Even as he rolled her gently to her back and moved his face away from her most sensitive areas, his lips still pressed against the sweat glistened skin of her thighs.  His hands took their time sliding down and up once more. Her hands hurried him up to her lips, not caring that he’d not even properly cleaned off his mouth beforehand.  She was a Valkyrie, a battle hardened goddess who deemed him worthy to see vulnerable moments.  It was what she wanted, always her decision and choice in the matter, that dictated how the private moments would be choreographed.  

He worshiped as she allowed it and her worship request was to wrap her thighs around his waist and take him in as deep as she could.

~*~

Leon, in combat, was poetry in motion.  

Chris could have watched him all day if he didn’t have his own share of opposition to tend to.  The government had definitely shaped him into a powerful weapon, a tool that could use weapons with a surgical precision that was nearly unparalleled.  But it wasn’t the expert gun use that had him distracted, oh no.  

It was the way he launched himself at a lunging soldier, straddling his face with his thighs, and pushed him to the ground.  The sound of a snapping neck followed shortly after the thud of the man’s body hitting the cement beneath them.  Just like that, Leon rolled back to his feet and continued on with his combat dance.

Just like that.

Chris barely dodged the knife that was thrown at him and shot at the offending party that threw it.  

“Watch it, Redfield,” was Leon’s warning, the concern in his voice thick.

“I’m watching it,” Chris conceded, though he didn’t say what, exactly, he was watching.

The slight crease of the material of Leon’s pants as he shifted his weight, hugging his ass just so, was a close runner up to the distraction that was his thighs at work.  Chris plunged his combat knife into the neck of the closest enemy and couldn’t help but think how jealous he was that someone who wasn’t him had those thighs pressed against his face.  

What a way to go.

“Watch it better than that ,” Leon said as he pushed Chris to the side so he didn’t take a bullet. 

Chris responded by ducking and firing at the offending party.  “I might be distracted,” he conceded.  

Back to back, they surveyed what, if anything, was left standing to oppose them in their cleanup.  “Do you want to go to the hospital and deal with a bullet wound instead of going home and getting fucked?”  Leon didn’t put his guns back in their holsters but he wasn’t ready to let his guard down.  “That’s twice that you slipped.  What the hell’s on your mind?”

Chris allowed a huff of a laugh to escape him.  “I’ll show you later.”

~*~

The difference between being terrified and being elated was separated by a blurred line, a line that pulsed with electromagnetic energy.  Each fingertip that grazed against his thighs sent shivers up and down his spine, even more so when the slight jolt of electricity accompanied it.  It was never enough to be painful; only enough to exhilarate and stimulate in ways Ethan didn’t know existed.

Though his lips weren’t electrified when they pressed against that same, sensitive skin, it threatened to light up Ethan’s nerve endings in ways he’d never experienced before.  Perhaps it was due to the dangerous man between his thighs and the threat of just how quickly the encounter could go sideways.  Maybe it was the guilt of how hurt his wife would be if she stumbled upon the moment, or the fact that he was enjoying the company of a man who had once tried to use his own daughter for his own ends.  

Fingernails lightly grazed along Ethan’s skin.  “Guilt is a terrible bedfellow.”

“Really?”  Ethan breathed out a sigh, more a laugh than a sign of discontent on his part.  “I thought your name was Karl.”

He could feel Heisenberg’s mouth, still pressed against the crease of skin between his thigh and his groin, as it twitched upwards into a crooked smile.  “ Dad jokes .  How sexy.”

[ahmementos]

It’s confirmed, Chris and Leon have matching watches.

[ahmementos]

Despite All My Rage I'm Still Just A Werewolf In A Cage

Febuwhump Day 14 : Caged

“The deadline is midnight tonight to get him under control.”

Leon looked through the reinforced glass into the werewolf in the cage.  “And you waited until 11PM to call me.”  To say he was pissed was the understatement of the century.  He’d been barred from coming in until they realized they were running out of time.  They’d left him with an hour.  “You realize this is calling for something drastic, right?”

The doctor took off her glasses.  “Define drastic.”  Rebecca wasn’t the one that kept him out.  In fact, if it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have even been given an hour to work whatever magic they pretended he had.  

Leon took off his guns and sat them in the chair nearby.  “No guns,” he instructed and took off his chest harness.  “No people storming in.  If I die, you can do whatever, but until that moment, you stay put in here.  Are we clear?”

There was commotion but Rebecca nodded.  “If you’re putting him down then you better make sure I’m dead first otherwise you’ll follow him.”  He waited for the others to back down and also nod before he moved through the security door and into the holding cage area.

Leon was operating under false pretenses.  He, Jill, and the rest of their rag tag band of merry fuckers had already been formulating a plan to break him out.  The call from Rebecca had only altered the exit strategy.  They called him in at the last minute because they were hoping he was still capable of changing back and they knew Chris had a very special investment in Leon’s well being.  They all agreed it was an opportunity they had to exploit, so they left the spy in charge of the details of extraction.

When he approached the cage, they thought he was desperate to get him to change back.  Leon already knew he could and he was desperate to get Chris to trust him and go along with a plan he had no knowledge of.  Putting on a good show was paramount and his clock was running out of time. 

The reinforced steel was showing signs of wear.  “You have two options here, Redfield.”  Leon’s fingers slipped along the cage and the massive werewolf inside didn’t lunge forward to claw at them so he took it as a good sign to keep talking.  “Everyone’s rooting on you to get this shit under control.  That’s why you’re in here and not dead, so…  Two options.  You get this shit under control or you get killed.  I’m not a fan of the latter, personally.”

Leon pulled out a key and the werewolf growled but it didn’t stop him.  “Oh fuck you, I’m coming in.”  The wolf stayed in the far corner and kept voicing its displeasure but Leon just shrugged and locked himself in before tossing the key across the room.  “Oh no, I’m stuck in here with you.  Looks like you’re going to have to get your shit together now.”  

It was deadpan and monotone delivered, just like his motions to the center of the cage were flat and almost bored.  

The wolf growled and almost built up to a roar.

Leon rolled his eyes.  “You’re wasting time with that shit,” he said calmly.  “If they kill you, I’m going with you, so get your shit together.”  He knew Chris understood every word he was saying.

Leon didn’t back away when the massive werewolf moved forward slowly, and he was massive.  Even crouched down slightly he towered over him.  He knew it was stupid, but he reached his hand out and touched Chris’ muzzle.  A touch turned into light scratches, slow and methodical, along the underside of his jaw.  

“We have an hour before they come in, guns blazing.”  The wolf growled but Leon kept scratching under his jaw, slow and calming.  “So you, Daddy Redfield, need to reach deep down inside and find the part of you that is you.  Otherwise we’re both dying.  I’m not living without you.”

Chris, this massive wolf of a monstrosity, sat down in a defeated heap.

Leon might have rolled his eyes.  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he laughed.  “You’re in here raging and thrashing around and I come in here and you’re like a pouty teenager being told they’re grounded.”

There was a protesting sound from Chris but it was definitely not a verbal comeback Leon could make out.

“Want me to strip to help motivate you?”  And he laughed when Chris shot a glance to the open window and growled.  “Then work with me here, okay?  There is video evidence of you shifting back and forth. They already know.  You just look like you lost control right now and… that’s your damn plan, isn’t it?”

Chris cut a glance back to Leon and lowered his head.  

Leon simply nodded.  “Look, they already know you can.”  He put his hands on either side of Chris’ muzzle and lifted his head back up.  “And it’s noble, what you’re doing, but really fucking annoying at the moment.  Trust me, okay?”

The muzzle moved gently from Leon’s grasp and Chris used his nose to push Leon lightly back.  “You’re an idiot.”  The outer layers of genetic material Chris didn’t need began to fall away, leaving nothing but a steaming hot muscular Chris Redfield, completely nude and coated in a layer of slime and blood.  “I keep forgetting you are the last person who’d be advocating for the smart choice of them putting me down.”

Leon ignored the grotesque layer of residue on Chris’ body and pulled him closer, words spoken softly.  “Put up a good show for the camera.”  

“You are probably contaminating the fuck out of yourself right now.”  Still, Chris didn’t push Leon away and may have felt guilty for not doing so.  Leon insisted he put on a good show, so he hoped the man knew what the hell he was doing.

“I’m looking forward to more contamination later tonight,” he said with a grin before he leaned in close enough to whisper into Chris’ ear.  “There’s stuff in motion, just play along, jackass.”

“I see, so this was a selfish move.”  Whether for sex, or Leon refusing to end the problem the smart way, it was definitely selfish.  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Just act defensive if they try to separate us,” he whispered before pulling away to pat his cheek lightly.  “Good boy.” 

“Jesus.”  Chris groaned and looked down.  “Can I get a fucking towel or something?”

“Stay nude just in case this goes south.”  Leon had to remind him it was still a rescue mission.

Chris nodded.  “Oh yeah, you’re a moron who trapped himself in a cage,” he huffed.  “We aren’t going anywhere.”

Leon smiled and pushed the door open.  “Bold of you to assume I actually locked the fucker.”

In place of the Han Solo and Leia moment, Chris gave the smallest smile.  “If we get out of this, I’m going to reward you so damn hard tonight.”

Leon might have blushed in spite of himself.  “Don’t threaten me with a damn good time while I’m working.”

[ahmementos]

Worthless

Febuwhump Day 13 : Soft Words

“Just a stupid kid, not even worth a bullet.”

“Boss said everyone, even a snot nosed brat.”  

The cowering child tucked himself as far against the wall as he could.  He’d watched from under the bed to make sure the footsteps were retreating but they never left.  The sound of the door bursting open downstairs and gunfire had him curling himself into a tight ball and he did his best to stay silent.  Across his room, he could see his mother’s lifeless face, her dead hand still reaching for him.  If he shut his eyes, he could still hear her telling him to get under there and stay quiet.

“Be good for me one last time, Leon.  Do what I say.”

*

“Worthless.”  Her words didn’t have to be more than the whisper they were.  Her departure from his jeep said it all.  That was the last word on the matter of his relationship before heading to Racoon City.  She’d declared him worthless for taking the job, decreed the relationship pointless because he chose to fulfill his own life goal of helping people with a specific uniform.

The whole conversation replayed in his mind throughout the entire bottle of whiskey in the hotel room on the outskirts of Racoon City.  “You’re stuck in the past.  Your family’s dead and you just can’t get over it.  What about me?  You really have been worthless to me, you know that?”  

Each tip of the bottle back did its best to drown a memory, a life of bullshit that finally was amounting to something only to have one person come in and make it mean nothing.  Racoon City would be different.  Racoon City would be where he turned it all around.

*

“This is getting old, saving your ass - that’s twice.”  

Because being thrust on the first day into a horror movie was something he should have been prepared for.  Leon stared at the woman who had, as she stated, saved him for a second time.  ‘Worthless’ as a descriptive word was coming back to haunt him.  ‘Not even worth a bullet’ was making a guest appearance, too.  

For a Rookie, he was holding his own in the apocalyptic scenario that was his first day on the job.  There was no police force to stay on with so his first day would be his last, but he was doing pretty good, all things considered.  Super Spy Ada, however, was just another on a long list of people who had him questioning his self worth.  

Gotta love trauma response and stupid things the brain latches onto in such times.

Her words weren’t necessarily quiet, but they were definitely softly spoken, given the situation.  Everything had to be quiet or you alerted the monstrosities that waited to tear you apart.  The soft words were the ones that burned into his memory, the ones spoken where no one was meant to hear.  Those always had the most weight.  

“It’s not worth it.”

“Take care of yourself, Leon.”

In retrospect, they were not the last things he’d hear from Ada, but in that moment, he believed them to be and it made him feel like his ex was right.  Everyone up to that point had been right.  He was worthless, not even worth a bullet.  Not even Ada could bring herself to waste one on him.

*

“Look, man, I need you.”  And if that wasn’t the line he wanted to hear coming from Chris Redfield’s mouth.  He’d met him a few times before, never with enough time to actively act on anything beyond work related bullshit.  He was fairly lit, drowning in a bottle, and he came to him with that line in his commanding tone and it was about work.

Work.

Leon tipped back his flask and looked Chris over.  If only he’d been saying that to him in a dimly lit hotel room, then he would have been all over him, but this was about work, the thing that he kept failing at.  Chris said he needed him and Leon laughed, dry and bitter.  Chris clearly wanted another loss and he wasn’t in the mood to give him another reason to hate himself.

*

After Maria Gomez, after the last loose end from the Arias scenario was cleared up, he did find himself in that dark hotel room.  “I need you,” was whispered in the same damn context he’d been longing for it to be whispered in.  Those strong hands were on his face, that solid wall of muscle was pressed against him and he knew there wasn’t going to be any need to get any engines going for him or Chris.  But in that moment, being met with something finally going right, the past and all those burned memories came flooding back.

“Haven’t you heard?  I’m worthless.”

The words that meant the most were never spoken loudly.  The banter, the sarcasm, and the quick quips were sent out at varying volumes though most were delivered deadpan.  Those weren’t the things that Chris held sacred, those quiet truths.  It was the things that were barely audible that Leon didn’t have enough liquid courage in his system to utter beyond a whisper.  

“I’m not good enough.”  The rest of Leon's sentence was left off and Chris could tell it had been truncated.  I’m not good enough for you.

Chris matched his volume and moved in closer to make sure Leon heard him.  “You’re too good for me,” he said and corrected the man without hesitation.  

It was always early morning confessions, made before the sun could act as a spotlight so the words were uttered in the dark.  The patter of rain against the hotel window tried to buffer them and drown them out, always the polite wingman, offering plausible deniability if it wasn’t heard correctly the first time.  Unfortunately for Leon, Chris had damn good hearing even after countless firefights.

Leon’s fingers traced along Chris’ lips and he offered the most defeated breath of a laugh, an exhale that almost said ‘well, shit, you heard that’.  “That’s a really stupid opinion you have there, Redfield.”  It was easier to deflect when he was caught.  “I’m just gonna let you down one day.”

Chris responded with that small smile of his.  He did it often with Leon; he couldn’t help himself.  The man said the stupidest things and never once realized, regardless of what happened, the only thing Leon managed to do was lift him up and give him something to live for.  “And that is what a stupid opinion sounds like.”

[ahmementos]

Bedside Manner Nonexistent

Febuwhump Day 12 : "Can You Hear Me?"

“I don’t know if you can hear me.”  The IVs and the beeping machines were annoying but they let him know Chris was still alive in there somewhere.  “They said to talk to you… but I’m not sure the one liners are going to be a great sales pitch.”

Leon had long ago pulled up a chair to sit next to him.  It had been at least a half hour before he could come up with words to say.  Only seconds before he spoke did he even reach out to grasp Chris' limp hand and realized just how fragile he seemed lying there.  This was the living, breathing semi-truck that ran roughshod on bioterror cells across the world.  To see him reduced to a comatose state in a hospital bed was more sobering than the resident alcoholic cared for.

“I don’t even know why they think I’ve got some power to drag your ass back to the land of conscious thought.”  Leon couldn’t look at the tubes running through Chris’ mouth so he focused on the hand in his grasp instead.  “Like I, of all people, can magically come up with the right phrase to bring you back.  I suck at hallmark shit.”

His thumb rubbed along the battered knuckles and he tried to be careful.  He wasn’t sure what all damage was there or how long he still needed to heal.  Claire told him it had been a cave in at the detonation site, a carefully laid trap.  

“You got all the men out this time,” he finally decided to say.  “No one died on your watch.”

It felt so empty to say to a man who may not come back to him.  

“I’m not saying that so you can rest easy or something equally selfish, okay?”  It felt like the thing to clarify.  “Can you give me a clue here?  Can you even hear me?”

Chris’ hand didn’t flex and there was no movement on his body.  Leon hadn’t come up with the right words yet.  He felt like he’d been given a test he couldn’t pass.  

“I can’t do this without you.”  It was said in a rush of breath, a secret that escaped when he exhaled.  “I don’t know what anyone else said to try and motivate you but I’m telling you I can’t do any of this without you and if you die on me right now I’m going to lose my shit.”

It might have been a trick his mind decided to play on him, but Leon swore Chris’ finger twitched.  Leon’s eyes widened as he stared down at Chris’ hand and willed it to move again, just to prove he wasn’t crazy.  When nothing happened, he nodded solemnly.  

“So you just got in my life and now it’s time to check out, huh?”  He nodded again but he could feel his vision blurring and it pissed him off.  “You made me give a shit about something.  After all this time, you made me open up to someone and now you’re just gonna nope right out without a fight.”

There was no mistaking the curling of Chris’ index finger around his hand.  It was weak and barely there, but he saw it that time.  Leon tightened his grip on Chris’ fingers and drew in a ragged breath.  

“Now you fucked up because I know you’re in there.”  The sob might have had a laugh mixed in.  “Now, you can’t die on me because…”

The words fell short.  This was the part where he’d come up with a deflecting one-liner and he found his database of such things empty.  All he had were tears as his hand held onto Chris’ like it was a lifeline.  

“Don’t die on me.”  It was a broken statement and his head falling on top of Chris’ hand muffled out the sobs that came as soon as it was out of his mouth.

[ahmementos]

Hazards of The Job

I'm not sure if I'll manage all the prompts as real life kinda went wild, but I'll still write some for the rest of the month on a pick and choose basis.

Febuwhump Day 11 : Fever

Happy Ending On Ao3

You didn’t just have a fever, not in Leon’s line of work.  It was worse than a typical person googling their symptoms on WebMD.  You had to figure out when the last time you had a dangerous mission was.  You had to double and triple check your body for cuts or abrasions that looked infected in the worst way possible the doctors might have missed.  If you had a fever, you had to report it to work so their doctors could run a multitude of tests.  

When you already had a prior infection inside you, it sent you down a never ending spiral of dread and anxiety.  Your mind plays tricks on you.  You start to remember every pain you had when infected.  You cross reference the aches and pains you currently have with the ones you had over a decade ago that were as fresh as remembering what you did or didn’t have for breakfast.  

When you hear the front door to the apartment open up, you dread giving Chris that key.  “It’s a fever,” Leon groaned, too weak to do much else from his position on the bed.  “Get the fuck out.”

“You have been at a desk doing paperwork for a week and before that it was training at the on-site range.”  Chris brought in two bags of food that contained what looked to be soup containers.  “It is probably the flu that’s going around at work.”

“Got my flu shot,” Leon mumbled against his pillow.

“And we both know that shit doesn’t always stop it from happening.”  Chris grabbed the thermometer from the nightstand.  “Open up.”  

Leon didn’t fight the order.

“Don’t let that fall,” Chris added as he pulled out what was very clearly soup from one of the bags.  “If you turn into a zombie, I’ll shoot you, okay?”

Leon rolled his eyes; obviously taking his temperature was a tactic to shut him up, not that he had the energy to really sass him back anyway.

The electronic beep told Chris the temp was taken and he pulled the thermometer away and stared at the numbers.  “What was it earlier?”

“102.”

Chris nodded.  “It’s 100.9 now.  Our lines of infection to worry about run upwards to 104.”  He sat down on the bed and smoothed his hand against Leon’s warm skin.  “Unfortunately for you and your death wish, you just might live.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbled but allowed Chris to help him sit up against pillows.  “I feel like shit.”

“It’s a pretty bad flu this year.”  He dipped the spoon into the container and moved the soup closer to Leon’s mouth.  “You have to eat.”

Leon stared at the soup and the moving contents slithering in and out of the broth.  “It’s moving.”  He looked up at the drooling monstrosity that was definitely not Chris and was too weak to move.  “Jesus fucking Christ…”

*

“Leon, wake up!”  

The feeling of Chris’ hands on his shoulders jolted him back to consciousness.  “Fuck,” was all he could get out before he had to lean away from Chris and vomit.  Black liquid splashed against the broken cement he’d been sitting down on.  It may have been blood but the darkness of the abandoned sewer entrance made it all seem black.  Knowing his luck, it was black, which meant the infection had progressed to a dangerous point.

“Are you still you?”  Chris gestured to his side at the soldier who had a gun trained on Leon’s forehead to make him stand down.  

“Just kill me.”  It was jarring to be in one place then suddenly meet the glaring reminder that you were actually infected while on duty and waiting on an antivirus that might not even work.  They’d vacated the lab and found a sewer tunnel entrance just beyond the facility to keep Leon secure while a cure was located.  

Second time in a row, too, and Leon wasn’t sure his luck was going to hold for a second miracle.  Did he want to die?  No, but he also didn’t want to become the job, either.

The soldier lowered the weapon.  “Yeah, that’s Kennedy.”

Chris might have growled under his breath before he started removing enough of Leon’s jacket to have access to his shoulder.  “I told you,” he said softly.  “You aren’t dying today, damn it.”

Leon was sure he looked amazing, black liquid already drying against his lips and his hair plastered from sweat against his forehead.  “I was looking forward to it.”  He didn’t wince when the injection burned through his body; the fever cooking him from the inside out decided the antivirus just felt like a slight tickle.  

“Now we wait.”  Chris gestured for the soldier to guard outside the perimeter.  “I told you if it doesn’t work, I’ll handle it.  Go guard the entrance.”

“Yes sir.”  

Leon didn’t watch the soldier leave but the heavy boots signaled his departure.  Gravel shuffled in cadence with footfalls retreating outside the broken down sewer entrance they’d bunkered down in.  It left the suffocating presence of Chris Redfield’s overwhelming guilt and possible looming loss.  “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, Leon.”  Chris had his handgun out but his other hand was holding Leon’s.  “You’re going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to be another loss you shut down over.”  Leon couldn’t bring himself to look at him.  He couldn’t stand to see those puppy dog eyes.  He didn’t want to recognize that impending dread lining Chris’ face.  “I can do it myself.”

“No one is doing anything right now.”  Chris didn’t outright sound defeated, but he sounded uncharacteristically quiet.

Leon’s fingers attempted to grip Chris’ hand tighter but he could only manage a light squeeze.  “This isn’t your fault, Chris.”  

They both knew he was going to blame himself, regardless of the outcome.  

“Just put a barricade up and go finish the mission.”  Leon tried to sit up and fell against the bricks for his efforts.  “I’ll either be recovering when you get done or I’ll need to be put down when you get back.”

“Mission is being handled.”  Chris tried to reach out and help him sit up but Leon shook his head.  

“Without the commanding officer.”  Leon swallowed down bile; he refused to vomit a second time with Chris sitting there.

Chris nodded.  “They can handle it.”

“You can’t handle this though.”  Leon managed to turn his head and finally looked at Chris.  “I don’t know if I can handle having to look you in the eyes if you have to put me down.”

“I can’t handle leaving you here, worrying out there if you are even going to be you when I get back.”

Leon forced his other hand to rest on top of Chris’.  “You’re an idiot.”

Chris almost seemed to relax at the insult.  “I love you, too, asshole.”

[ahmementos]

PTSD And How It Affects All Parties Involved

Febuwhump Day 10 : Difficulty Breathing

The hand around his throat was a terrible way to be woken up.  It was tight, constricting his airways in ways enemies of the past had.  There was no body armor to grab and no weapons to help him free himself.  He hadn’t even fully woken up to have the coordination to fight back.

Not that he wanted to when those brown eyes, lifeless and not coherent, were staring down at him.

Leon tried to speak but the vice grip on his neck was so tight.  “Chris,” he managed to get out.  Panic was slowly setting in.  If he’d known Chris had been out of it, he wouldn’t have allowed the rough pull from his side to his back so the man could pin him expertly.  In the dark bedroom at 4 AM, he had no way of knowing it wasn’t for kinky purposes.  

Instead of struggling more, shaking hands reached up and cupped Chris’ face.  “Please,” he forced out.  

Chris blinked.  Twice.  His hand came away from Leon’s throat and he tumbled away so fast he fell off the end of the bed.  “Are you… okay?”  Weak words muffled by a bed and probably a bit of shame. 

Leon sat up and scrambled to his feet before moving far across the room to the light switch.  “Kinda depends,” he started and had to cough before finishing.  His throat hurt and he felt dizzy.  He had to brace himself against the wall.  “Done being psycho?”

Chris didn’t answer.  His head drooped and his hands gripped the footboard of the bed.  It wasn’t effective in building confidence that Chris was back in charge of his body.  

Leon didn’t dare slump to the floor.  “Okay then.”  He cleared his throat again and moved carefully to the bathroom.  “You keep staying there on the floor until you can verbalize that you’re you again.”  

“I don’t know what that was…”  Hearing Chris’ voice gave a rush of relief.  

Oh.  “We’ve heard the horror stories.”  Leon emerged from the bathroom with a wet washcloth and slowly knelt beside Chris.  “PTSD ones.  I’m shocked we haven’t had more of this shit, honestly.”  

Chris took the rag Leon tried to press against his forehead and put it gently against Leon’s neck.  “Normal people don’t take care of the person who just attacked them.”  

Leon shrugged.  “Trust me when I say I’m gonna knock your ass out if you pull that shit again.”  He smiled, a tired and lazy smile that Chris didn’t feel like he deserved.  “Honestly, I’m just glad it’s not brainwashing.  This?  We can deal with this.”

He was forever in awe at whatever was wrong in Leon’s brain that allowed him to simply roll with extreme situations, and equally mortified that the man was going to get himself killed with that mindset.  “The fact that brainwashing is something we have to worry about is fucking bullshit.”  The fact that it could be him killing him knotted up his gut in ways he couldn’t handle.  

Leon could see the distant look in Chris’ eyes.  “Stop.”  Again his hands were on either side of Chris’ face.  “You’re doing that thing where you’re hating yourself and blaming yourself and this is what the job does to us, okay?  I’m not going anywhere.”

“You should.”  It was whispered quietly, but it still came out of Chris’ mouth.

Leon narrowed his eyes.  “Fuck you, no.”  He took the washcloth from Chris’ hand and stood up.  “Come on.  You can make it up to me.”

Common sense insisted Chris say no, that he sleep on the couch or leave the apartment entirely.  The hand that reached out for him wouldn’t take no for an answer and Chris kicked himself for being so weak that he had to accept it.  He had no right to what was offered, especially so soon after the event in question.  He had no damn right.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Leon groaned.  “Let’s go do that stupid thing where we talk about shit in the kitchen over coffee instead.”

[ahmementos]

I'd Fucking Love To Live Deliciously, Black Phillip

Febuwhump Day 9 : Rope Burns

“Is he taking his time?”  Jill was talking to herself mostly, but the man physically tied to her laughed at the question.  Two of the world’s top soldiers in the fight against bioterror and they’d found themselves bound against each other’s backs by thick rope that connected their wrists together.  They knew Chris was still in the building and looking for both of them but his usual thirty minutes or less track record was starting to come into question.

Leon had been busy giving himself some gnarly rope burns as he did his best to stretch and pull at the bindings to make them give.  “Well it gives us time to look cooler than him,” he grunted when he felt the slight tearing of his own skin.  “Because he’ll show up and we’ll already be free and he’ll be pouty about it.”

She tried her luck at pulling her own wrist free and, though it wasn’t a complete success, she could feel a bit of a slip in her binds.  “How the fuck is that even working?”  

“Witchcraft.”  He couldn’t even say it dramatically as he had to suck in a breath at the burning sensation against his skin.  “If only it’d be a bit more effective.”

“It’s a religion.”  She tugged on her wrists again by pulling forward and away from Leon’s back.  “You have to have faith for it to work.”

Leon took a breath and then tried hard to pull his wrists away from each other to offer the last inch she needed to break out of the binds.  “Come on, Black Phillip, we wanna live deliciously, goddamnit.”  

“That’s not- woah!”  She barely stopped herself from flying face first into the cement floor they’d been stuck on when she pulled herself completely free.  “Disregard the criticism.  I’m building a shrine to that fucking goat in my living room when we get out of this.”

With his hands still bound behind his back, he wiggled them as best he could.  “How about you find something to cut me loose before you start making interior decorating plans, hm?”

“What, you don’t want to deglove and slip it off the good old fashioned way?”  

Leon looked at her through the curtain of his bangs.  “How about you go fuck yourself?”  He offered a smile.

Jill laughed.  “Chris would have a coronary.”  She dug into her boot for the knife the henchmen didn’t find and made quick work of the ropes around her ankles.  “He’s already going to be upset if we managed to blemish your skin with that trick.”

When the ropes were cut away, Leon started to rub at his wrists and stopped when the pain from the wounds had his eyes tearing up.  “He can make it up to me when we get home.”

[ahmementos]

I Would Dive For You

Febuwhump Day 8 : Panic

Panic: It is defined as a state of overwhelming fear and apprehension characterized by erratic behavior and actions.  More times than not, Chris couldn’t tell when Leon was panicking about anything.  Most of Leon’s planned and choreographed actions in combat could have fit the definition of the word, erratic and wild and most certainly nothing he could predict.  The reason he never recognized them as panic was because they were highly skilled combat moves and a level of control was always present when he executed them.  He called it ‘Leon being fast on his feet’ or ‘He’s got years of high level government training and experience’.  Occasionally, Chris just declared him crazy with a death wish.

Watching him in the middle of battle, really being able to catch the movements because he was stuck inside a containment field without a way to assist, he understood it for what it was.  Leon Kennedy, amazingly, had managed to channel a fight or flight response into an automated system of perfected movements that he could change up on a moment’s notice.  He didn’t miss and if he did miss a mark, there was already a split second recalibration ready to continue with a more successful followthrough.  

A gash from a clawed appendage, superficial at best, would have had other agents and soldiers pausing.  Not Leon.  He channeled the anxiety over how deep it might be and fueled an even stronger counter.  All the while the micro calculations ran on auto pilot, Leon was darting his eyes in varying directions, another larger calculation already working itself out for a bigger finale.  

The only panic that was visible to the trained eye was coming off Chris himself, being stuck in a prison cell and unable to assist.  “Look out!”

If he needed the verbal warning, Chris couldn’t tell, but Leon dodged a swing of a massive claw immediately after he’d shouted.  

It was a swift series of movements that followed that Chris could barely keep up with… barely.  Leon leapt up for a broken ladder that led to the upper catwalks of the prison floor.  It was only two seconds that he couldn’t see him and his prison cell was open.  He dashed out towards the ladder… just in time for the laser grid inside his cell to activate.  If he’d stayed in there one second more, he would’ve been dead.

“Chris!”  He heard Leon before he saw him all but jumping off the catwalk ladder right above him.  

Chris barely wrapped his arms around Leon and tumbled to the side just before the almost forgotten mutant lunged at them both.  “Need hel-”  He found Leon’s mouth roughly against his own instead of a verbal answer.  

“Yes,” he said as he pulled away and dragged them both to their feet.  

For another second he swore he could see panic in Leon’s eyes but it was gone just as quickly as he’d seen it.  “Do you have a plan for this asshole here?”  

“Gimme a lift,” he said as they ran back to the ladder.  “Keep him distracted.”  

“Oh yeah, sure,” Chris hoisted him up so he could grab and climb up the ladder then followed behind him.  “You go that way, I’ll go home, right?”

“You just like making me do all the work.”  Leon was already doing as Chris had suggested, running towards a discarded item he’d pulled from a locker that was in the opposite direction.  

“I do plenty of work, asshole.”  Instead of going home, Chris ran away from Leon’s position and banged on the safety railing.  “Over here, fucker,” he bellowed and only paused to see if the creature was charging straight for him or veering to one side or the other.  

Leon had the best mission finishing luck of anyone Chris knew.  “Move!” Leon shouted and the full length of the rocket launcher came to view.

“Always a fucking rocket launcher.”  Chris took off in a sprint back towards Leon and jumped forward right before the rocket impacted with the creature.  The blast sent him moving forward even faster.  

Leon barely caught him and stopped them both from going over the edge of the upper ramp.  “All that muscle is really fucking heavy.”  He left his head against the metal and caught his breath; for all his complaining, he didn’t push Chris’ body off and held the larger man a bit tighter against him.  “We have… maybe five minutes to get the fuck out of here.”

Chris nodded.  “Thanks for the save.”

“Would’ve been here sooner but I got delayed by that asshole.”  Leon almost laughed, a sound that ended up being more of a relieved exhale than anything else.  “Security terminals said the prison level was on lockdown with a system-wide extermination and the countdown was set to five minutes so…”  

Chris did laugh.  “So all that panic was because you were trying to save me?”

The panic left some residual anxiety that managed in a response that was more curt than Leon had intended. “I told you, he held me up already and I didn’t know how much ti-”

Chris’ mouth was against Leon’s and effectively cut his explanation off.  

Structural integrity compromised.  Strategic detonation commencing in t-minus four minutes.

Chris growled as he stood up and immediately helped Leon to his feet.  “Thought you said five minutes.”

Leon shrugged and the two of them ran towards the exit.  “We can panic together about how the fuck we’re getting out of here, okay?”

“The couple that panics together dies together.”

“Fuck you, we aren’t dying.”  He was down the ladder and heading towards the prison entrance before Chris’ boots hit the main level floor.  “I just busted my ass saving you.  I’m getting railed tonight, by you specifically, so move your ass, Captain.”

[ahmementos]

A new CG movie announced!!!

Resident Evil: Death Island

No Claire to be found but I'm happy with Chris and Jill reunion and a possible Leon and Jill team up 👀

[ahmementos]

Now You Know This Is What It Feels Like

Febuwhump Day 7 : Made To Watch

Also on Ao3

It felt like forever that all he had to break the monotony of the silence was the shallowness of his breath while he worked through the pain.  In truth, it may have been mere minutes since he’d been dragged from the confines of a metal table he’d been strapped to and bolted into a steel chair in some sort of closed off room that only allowed him a nondescript steel panel on a wall to stare at.  He’d lost track of time since his own government had dragged him to a black ops site, but his best guess was that it had been a week.

The face Leon had been staring at since he managed to rip his stupid covert mask off on the first day still wasn’t ringing any bells to him.  “It seems we aren’t getting anywhere with our current tactics.”  In a week’s time, he still hadn’t managed to figure out who the asshole was that did all the directing of the guards and intelligence agents at his disposal.    

Leon thought he knew every face in the US government, but the team that had been doing their best to work him into a state of compliance was one of their best kept secrets.  “Waterboarding was a nice change of pace.”  He struggled not to cough when he spoke, hair wet and plastered against his face.  “Thought that was reserved for the enemy when not keeping up the lie of it being banned.”

The man in charge motioned in Leon’s direction and the guards double checked the cuffs that held his arms and ankles locked against the metal chair he’d been dumped in.  It, too, was a level of torture in and itself.  He couldn’t control the shivering as his boxer briefs did nothing to prevent the cold steel from sending a chill across his already dampened body.  

“No, after a week of this, it seems we have to play hardball.”

“Shock rods weren’t hardball?”  He hadn’t had a chance to check them out, but the scorch marks on his sides still hurt like a motherfucker.  “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Agent Fuck Around and Find Out didn’t know when to shut up.  “What we want is for the United States to be able to manage compromised organizations that are not upholding the ideals of morality and decency.”  The strange remote in his hand hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“What you want is for me to infiltrate any organization you can’t control and compromise it so everyone has to come to us for aid.”  Leon wasn’t an idiot.  

The agent put his hand on his chest and feigned shock.  “Anything we’ve done has been to stop corruption before it starts, Agent Kennedy.”

“You want to control the cash flow involved in bioterror cleanup.”  The second the betterment of the United States and the world became kidnapping agents already employed to force them into compliance was the second he stopped believing a damn thing any of them said.  “Go fuck yourself.”

The man pulled a chair over and sat it next to Leon.  “I have something that I think will bring you over to our team.”  Finally, he offered Leon the big reveal by pushing one of the buttons on his remote and grabbed him by the hair and made sure his eyes only had the emerging window and to look at.

What Leon had thought was a reinforced wall slid open and revealed an adjacent room with a man seated in a chair.  His eyes narrowed as he focused on the prone man’s form.  Even with a bag over the man’s head, he knew those thighs intimately.

“He’s got nothing to do with this.”  Strength he swore they’d tortured out of him welled to the surface as his hands balled into fists.  Muscles sore from abuse flexed.  His eyes watched men move closer to Chris’ bound form with more of their favorite party favors and he finally was able to focus on the discoloration points that marred Chris’ skin.  “How long has he been here?”

The agent seemed pleased and laughed lightly.  “Long enough to be too sedated to fight back anymore.”

Leon watched the ends of the shock batons light up in preparation for use and tried to look away.  “Let him go.”  He looked down at the binds and tested them reflexively to no avail.  “He’s got nothing to do with this!”

The agent seated next to him gripped his hair tighter and forced him to settle.  “He has everything to do with this.”  His fingers pressed another button on the remote in his hand and the people on the other side of the glass moved in closer.  “He is the one responsible for BSAA’s conception, right?”

Logic told him that Chris, even sedated, could take it.  He’d been taking it for a week and he was still persevering and Chris was better built for the abuse.  The running joke was always that, if it came down to a torture scenario, Chris would be the one who could take it and not break.  

The difference between a drunken hypothesis and a forced recreation of said hypothesis into an actual experiment was the testing process, seeing the test performed live to prove the point.  “Stop!”  Yelling did nothing except earn his hair a yank and his eyes back in the general viewing range of electroshock therapy gone horribly wrong.  

The torture he'd already been put through was nothing compared to being unable to stop it being done to Chris.

“I will… once I’m sure you understand how important it is to cooperate with us.”  The agent used his grip on Leon’s hair to redirect his eye contact to him for a brief moment.   “I want to make sure you understand how much we want you in on this, Agent Kennedy, and I need you to understand Captain Redfield’s eventual release is tied to your cooperation.”

[ahmementos]

You Are My Center When I Spin Away

Febuwhump Day 6 : Secrets Revealed

Too depressing? Happy ending (not the nsfw kind) over on Ao3

Coffee had been replaced by beer, then beer with scotch.  Sometimes whiskey; it depended on what was in stock at the local liquor store.  When delivery of the alcohol was an option, he often told the driver ‘surprise me’ and got whatever they brought.  He tipped well and they didn’t ask why he was, very obviously, drinking himself to death.  Everyone was happy.

“One for you and one for me.”  He always poured two glasses because sharing was caring.  “You had a head start on the sclerosis shit, not that you’d ever manage to kill yourself that way, but I figure I can catch up while burning all this vacation time I never used.”  

Jill had always negotiated his leave time and even in her disappearance the racked up leave time had sat there.  “Five months is a long time to take leave but given the circumstances, they’ll give me my space.”  The younger kids were always going on about speed running their video games.  He could definitely speedrun alcohol poisoning.  “You know, I’ve been holding out on you because I’ve had a secret.”

His voicemail had been full for two weeks and he refused to clear it or listen to any of them.  No one could find him so there was no need to go to his apartment and bang on the door until he let them in.  The few people he'd given his burner phone number to couldn't track him with it and they'd filled that voicemail up completely as well. Fuck voicemail. He was spending time with an asshole who refused to talk back.

Bills were set to autopay.  Car was parked in a storage garage and paid up for at least a year or until his untimely demise.  He was so damn good at planning missions that he turned the event into a mission just to make sure it was a goddamn success.

Bonus: no teammates to get killed along the way.

“I never told you that I was in love with you the first time I saw you.”  Chris tipped the glass back against his lips and thought back to it.  “It wasn’t at the Terrasave fundraiser, though that was why the handshake was a bit awkward.  I didn’t realize I still had a grip on your hand when it was officially done.”

He didn’t want to let go.

“No, it was your rookie photo in the office.”  And Chris laughed as he thought back to it.  “I saw it the last time I snuck in there before I had to get out of town.  Thought to myself ‘Damn, wish I could warn that guy not to come here.’ You looked so beautiful, so full of goddamn hope, and you were getting sent to hell on Earth right when it was about to implode.”

The glass met his lips again and the liquid poured down his throat.  “Don’t be rude,” he said to the silence.  “It’s my turn to talk.”

The other glass sat, untouched.  “I know it’s not whiskey,” he groaned, “but I told them to surprise me again and they sent over vodka.  We have to make due.”

Chris leaned his head back against the headboard and stared up at the motel room ceiling.  “I thought I knew what love was,” he sighed.  “I really did.  And then you came along, with your goddamn perfect hair and your bullshit mouth.  God…”

There were the tears again.  “You saved me to punish me, didn’t you?”

Leon never answered.  He never drank what was offered.  What physical remains were left of Leon fit into a beautiful urn that Claire had picked out and sat on the nightstand next to him.  

“I miss your goddamn mouth.”  Leon always had some bullshit one liner, some way to deflect.  He never missed an opportunity to talk.  Being met with silence was the most painful thing of all.  “Having to do all the talking in this relationship is wearing me out.”

His fingers stroked the tags wrapped around the urn.  It was not the same, but it was the only semblance of comfort he could find, touching what Leon used to touch in the dead of night when it was just them working through their emotions.  If he sat back and thought hard enough, he could almost feel Leon reaching out to grab his hand before reaching for the dog tags and falling into the raging inferno beneath them.

That was always when he let them go and took another drink.  “Halfway through another bottle.  Maybe I’m almost halfway back to you.”

[ahmementos]

The Worst Scars Are The Ones You Cannot See

Febuwhump Day 5 : "That's gonna scar."

Also on Ao3

The Heisenberg Factory was supposed to be off limits until he was older.  He’d snuck in late one night to watch the men work and marvel at their automatons, not realizing the dangers of the railing and how easy it was to fall over.  Hitting several ramps on the way down stopped him from achieving death, but it didn’t stop him from acquiring several permanent scars and a few broken bones.  

To a small boy who had already taken up the mantle of protector of the weak, they were a badge of honor, a mark of maturity.  He made his own crutches out of forgotten and discarded mechanical parts and became more of a terror to those who would victimize the weak.  After all, metal crutches were amazing weapons when pressed into an altercation.  

*

When Karl was 16, he snuck down to the lake to meet with a beautiful girl and equally beautiful boy he fancied.  Between the accident in his childhood and the fights he found himself starting and stopping in the village over a myriad of subjects, he kept his form in peak physical shape.  The primary side effect was that mended bones and aching joints had muscle to counteract overuse and his size kept most from attempting to start nonsense they couldn’t back up.

The unintended benefit was the popularity that he had with the more free spirited of the village inhabitants.

Midway through the festivities of disrobing, the wolves surrounded them and attacked.  He didn’t blame them; they were hungry and starved since the winter had been unseasonably cruel and bitterly cold that year.  He did, however, take offense to the ones that clawed at him and bit his side.  The pelts he brought home allowed him to be forgiven for sneaking out unannounced and no one asked questions about his lack of clothing upon his return.  He did not elaborate on how his evening’s companions rewarded him for saving their lives.

After that night, the local wolf population seemed to revere and respect him, most even approaching from a respectful distance whenever he ventured out at night.

*

“That’s going to leave a scar.”  Alcina groaned when she pulled the cloth away from his face to inspect the damage first hand.  “I’m sure you’re fine with it.  It keeps you popular with the wanton men and women of the night in the village.”

Alcina never fancied men but before her transformation, the two of them managed to get along to a reasonable degree.  “Alcina, these things happen.”  The long gash across his nose had been an accident, one he’d brushed off without a second thought.

She was weakening as her disease progressed and the thought of accidentally passing out and using his face to catch her fall was unforgivable.  “If I thought I could perform, I would offer compensatory services… like the rest of this village does.”  She said it with a roll of her eyes as was her way with those topics.  

“I’d never take it from you,” he laughed with a cloth pressed against his bleeding face.  “You wouldn’t know what to do with a cock if it politely knocked at the entrance of your cunt and gave you hand written instructions.”

A smile returned to her face as he helped her to the antique couch.  “I’ve read the instruction manual and found it lacking in anything of interest to me.”

*

“She sees the lanky man sneaking around at night around the lake.”  Angie did all the talking for Donna and always had.  Donna’s hands moved her arms to and fro, but Karl never looked at Donna when he spoke to Angie.  That would have been the height of rudeness.  

“Salvatore’s an odd one,” he nodded before he found Angie’s puppeted hand reaching up to his cheek.  “He’s harmless, though.  Just odd.”

“That is a new one, Mister Karl.”  Donna looked around from Angie and her own hand reached up to touch the fresh cut that rested deep in Karl’s face. 

“It is.”  He addressed them both.  “It’s okay.  Just another battle scar from battles I shouldn’t be picking in the village.”

Donna slunk back behind Angie and Angie’s head shook back and forth.  “Mister Karl, you can’t fight a whole village.”

“But they were talking about the Black God again,” he sighed.  “All that nonsense is making things tense.  That Miranda woman showing up and forcing her religion on everything… It’s not good, Angie.  I’m worried about you and Donna being out here alone.”  

Donna sighed, a quiet voice that spoke for herself for one rare moment.  “Do you think the Black God could fix me?”

Karl reached out his hand to her and softened his fingers around hers when she reached back.  “There’s nothing wrong with you, Donna,” he whispered.  “You’re Donna and you’re perfect just the way you are.”

*

The mold shoved down his throat left scars that never healed.  The hand on his throat that held him down gripped him too tightly.  Nails dug into the sides and punctured skin.  Still, he fought it, fought the woman who had destroyed everything he’d called home. 

She had no right being as powerful as she was.  Dainty and lithe, she held him down with one hand.  Any other time, he may have marveled.  Being on the receiving end of her abuse just made him curse her and curse the day she stumbled upon their village.  He had to push himself to repair his body and keep it going.  She looked like she was perfect, no calloused hands from work, no muscle development from hard labor, and she had bested him without breaking a sweat.

“Stop fighting, Karl, or I will leave more scars.”  Miranda was a cruel bitch who spoke lies like a poet wove sonnets, promising love and only delivering pain.  Her words were honey coated daggers, delivered with sweetness and punctured his flesh.  

Hands softly smoothed against his arms, a contrast to the chains that bound him against a stone altar.  “Do you want me to tell you the process?  What you will experience?”  She told him she had been alive long before he was born, a mad god gloating at her own desolation and destruction.  

He looked at the Cadou, the monstrosity in a jar she held above his stomach.  “I hope it kills me.”  He let his head fall back down and he prayed the Black God, if it even existed, would wipe them all from the face of the Earth.  The Black God only deemed him worthy of suffering as the blade in Miranda’s hand sliced open his chest and the creature in the jar wormed his way around his heart.

*

The days that followed were a blur of pain and unconsciousness, lightning and strange magnetic-like occurrences.  Miranda went from delighted at the discovery to a rage when she found he could and would not be controlled.  More mold was shoved down his throat and that worked for short bursts but it wasn’t the effective leash she needed for him.

The Lycan that was first brought to him that responded to his commands was familiar.  “What have you done?”  He gazed into familiar eyes, eyes he’d gazed down at while lying atop them in the wood covered fields at midnight.  Friends, family, and wayward companions; all mutant half breeds and only bare traces of who they were remained.

“Failed experiments, I’m afraid,” was the mad god’s answer.  “They respond to you, so they are yours to control.  A gift.”

Between Donna’s drastic spiral into her own mental illness and Alcina’s cold and cruel new form, he buried the last of who he was with those villagers.  “Altruism is appreciated.”  He could put on an act just as good as she could.

Gods were constructs of myth, fantasy, and spectacle. He had yet to see any god do anything worthwhile for the people around him.  All gods managed to do was make their loyal humans suffer and die, providing no comfort and no aid when it was begged for. 

What remained of the villagers begged him for help.  Like a god, he turned away from them and left them to suffer.  Their sacrifices would be the last, he told himself, as he began his plans to kill the god that had brought them all to the path they were going to die on.

*

Karl looked at himself in the mirror.  Heisenberg stared back at him, cold and calculating.  The scars were from an old life.  His new life echoed behind him, deep within the confines of his family factory.  Reanimated cadavers became his soldiers.  Lycans became his militia.  Whatever Karl fought for was long dead and all Karl had left to do was sit in silence, tucked away in the cemetery of Heisenberg’s mind to pray to a god that clearly wasn’t listening and never truly existed in the first place.

Heisenberg would do what a fabled god would not.  He would save himself and make sure the mad god died the death she deserved.

[ahmementos]

Ill Advised Kinks Your PTSD Handbook Didn't Warn You About

Febuwhump Day 4 : Knife To The Throat

(Ao3 link with bonus deleted scene)

The steel against his neck should have made him apprehensive.  “Fuck you.”  Leon wasn’t known for his common sense when the man pressing the blade against him was built like a brick wall and leaning in dangerously close.  

“That’s not what you say to a man with his knife at your throat.”  Jack Krauser was dead and buried, a ghost of a memory and yet there he was, scarred up and pushing a knife against Leon’s skin.  “Whatever happened to your old motto?”

The old motto pissed Leon off about as much as his body reacting to Jack’s body pressed against his.  “It died with some asshole in the fucking jungle, allegedly.”  The arm Leon knew had been injured before had both his wrists locked up above his head.  “Whatever happened to it being inappropriate to feel up your partner?”

Jack leaned in closer and took in Leon’s scent.  “We aren’t partners anymore, are we?”

“We definitely aren’t.”  He lured Jack in just enough to relax the push of the knife against his skin and he disguised the adjustment of his legs as a need to push himself against the other man’s groin.  It was the split second distraction he needed. He used his knee to knock Jack off balance while tucked his head and pushed the rest of him away with a combination of his upper body and firmly planted boots.  

He dodged in the opposite direction that Jack fell and checked his neck.  Bastard still cut me.  It wasn’t deep but the real wound was getting up off the ground with a laugh, the one that was not as dead as reported.  

“Not even for old time’s sake, huh?”  Jack was on his feet and twirling his knife in his hand for a better position.  He didn’t have to say he could feel Leon’s arousal when he had him pinned against the wall.  He didn’t have to say anything at all.  He just grinned.

Leon had his knife out and anticipated the impending attack.  “That ship didn’t just sail,” he growled, “but it’s already at the bottom of the ocean never to sail again, comrade.”

*

The knife against his throat didn’t even have him blocking it.  “Hot.”  The body pressed against him only gave him one reaction; Leon leaned into the pressure Chris’ form provided and grinned at narrowed brown eyes when he tapped Chris lightly with the barrel of his weapon. “Is that a knife at my throat or are you happy to run into me?”

“Jesus, Kennedy.”  Chris lowered his weapon and slid his fingers against Leon’s skin.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

“DSO Backup.”  Chris’ thumb lingered against his neck, right on the light scar that remained from days he wished he could forget, and Leon licked his lips.  “Joint op.  Does your team get this level of TLC in the field or am I just really fucking special?”

Chris couldn’t hide the breath of a laugh he exhaled.  “I hate it when you talk shit on a mission because you always duck and run when the mission is over.”  He checked the hall he’d just come down and looked into the next direction he was going to take before being interrupted.  “What if I had been an enemy?”

Leon’s eyes were locked on Chris’ but his mind was somewhere else.  “I have an old motto for that.”

“Oh yeah?” Chris turned around and started the trek down the hall.  “This should be great combat advice I’m about to hear.”  

Leon pulled his guns out and followed Chris’ lead.  “Yeah, in a situation like that?  You’re either fucked or you’re getting fucked.”

“Fuck’s sake.”  Chris paused and shook his head before leading them onward.  “How much have you had to drink?”  

“Enough to know I’m too sober to give a shit about a knife at my throat.”  He’d been down that road before and he was never drunk enough to have a come to Jesus moment about ill advised kinks he harbored due to PTSD.  “So does your team get that level of care from their commanding officer or am I just really blessed?”

“Do you want to be blessed?”  He looked over his shoulder long enough to make sure Leon was right behind him.

He could hear the motion above them in the rafters of the hall.  “Do you moonlight as a priest on the weekends to facilitate that?”  Leon pointed his gun upwards and fired.

Chris turned around in time to watch the body fall between them on the floor and pointed his gun upwards while Leon turned on his flashlight.  “You better not die on me, because I’m collecting on that.”  He started firing his weapon at the enemy above.

Leon did the same.  “Holding you to that, Father Redfield.” 

[ahmementos]

Shut Up, Leon

Febuwhump Day 3 : Muzzle

Also on Ao3

“That’ll shut you up, won’t it?”  

It wasn’t the first time Leon’s mouth had gotten him into trouble.  It was definitely the first time it had gotten him effectively muzzled.  The cloth was tight against his mouth, so much so that his teeth couldn’t avoid biting down on it if he tried.  The look on the random thug’s face assured Leon that he didn’t care if he screamed.  He just wanted the biting sarcasm silenced.  

The face that looked up at him menacingly could have been on a poster with the text ‘Random Thug 12’ underneath and it would have been the same thing Leon saw in the credits of an action movie.  Beaten up for information by ‘Random Thug 12’ seemed like an insult, but whatever Chris’ mission entailed was big enough that they sent their biggest random thug to force it out of him.  

He knew he should’ve left Chris’ apartment before the sun went down.

“I had other ideas about shutting you up, but you seem like the type to bite things off you don’t want in there.”  Random Thug 12 left him with nothing to work with.  Chained to a ceiling, his feet bound and weighted down so he couldn’t kick, Leon’s only means of distraction had been locked away behind a repurposed t-shirt.  He narrowed his eyes at him, watched him pace across the room, and tried to brace for the impact of the crowbar he saw coming to rest in his hands.  

“I figure I’ll soften you up first.” The threats always came before the violence (much like him when fucking Chris because the Captain was a goddamn gentleman about foreplay).  “Then you’ll talk.  For you to swear you don’t even like the guy, you sure aren't forthcoming with the information on Redfield.”

Leon’s expression didn’t change.  Like I’d know where that asshole is. It wasn’t a profession of hatred.  It was Leon being petulant because the current mission Chris had been assigned to had forced him into radio silence abruptly after a wild night of hot sex.  They’d agreed upon getting word to each other so there was less to worry about when communication stopped and then he did the very damn thing he had suggested they don’t do.  

He wondered if this impromptu kidnapping he’d been drug into was part of that covert operation he didn’t know a goddamn thing about.  Chris didn’t even give him a heads up.  The Captain was a goddamn asshole sometimes.

When Random Thug 12 prepped to swing, he wondered if years of being knocked around by bioweapons five times his size had prepared him enough for something as mundane as a crowbar.  The first slam of hard metal against his side had him thanking the idiot for the muzzle.  There was enough cloth there to really bite down on and spare him any potentially cracked teeth.  The snap of a rib breaking, on the other hand, had him questioning whether or not his teeth should have been his first priority.  

“Bet that stings a little.”

Leon’s eyes darted in the hired thug’s direction; he may have been robbed of his ability to talk shit, but he was not without his ability to glare menacingly in his direction.  

“I’ll give you an easy one.  When was the last time you saw Chris Redfield?” 

He watched the man’s hands tighten around the crow bar until his knuckles were white.  There wasn’t even time to indicate he’d give an answer before the rigid steel impacted with his side once again.  His eyes shut tight and he bit down hard on the cloth to silence any sounds that would have been louder than a groan.   

The third swing was around the same spot and he wished he’d go numb from repetition.  The fourth and fifth hit his legs and he was given no time between each swing to catch his breath and gather his bearings.  The sixth and seventh were split; one on the untouched side and the other flat against his chest.  There was the slight whine they wanted.  He could see the smile of approval even through blurry, teary eyed vision.    

Around the eighth swing, when he was barely sucking in a breath when it connected with his body, Leon noticed shadowed movement from the open door in front of him and the tell tale sign of the barrel of an assault rifle barely peering from the darkness.  He made a few muffled sounds of defeat and held still when the man reached up to remove the cloth from his mouth.  

“Well?”  He tapped the crowbar against Leon’s face.  “Last known location of Redfield, pretty boy?  Next time I might use my other stick to dig the info out of you.”

Leon laughed, a painful thing to do when you felt like your ribs were poking into your lungs with every breath.  “When he was balls deep inside me three days ago.”  He leaned in close, as best he could through waves of pain, and whispered it against the man’s ear.  “How far you willing to dig for DNA?”

He ignored the shocking reminder of his broken ribs as he laughed.  

“Shut up, Leon.”   The gunfire broke out after the barked order.  His captor didn’t even have a chance to reach for his gun and return fire.

“He’s dead…”  Leon gazed down at the glory that was Chris Redfield.  The cavalry.  His hero.  What an asshole, showing up late so he couldn’t avoid a trip to the ER.  “Get me down…”

“What if I’d been someone else?”  Chris rushed over with a chair and a lock pick.  “When I get you off the hook, put your arms around my neck.”

Chris was as gentle as he could be, lifting 180 pounds of lean, well tenderized muscle, and Leon let his arms fall down around him as instructed.  “Took you long enough.”  

“How the hell did you even know it was me?”  He sat Leon down gently in the chair once he got them both down to ground level and unbound his legs.  “How long have you been here?”

“I’d know those broad shoulders anywhere.”  It was the shoulders he leaned into, the ones he knew still had scars from his nails digging too far into the skin on nights where caution was tossed to the wind.  “A few hours?  Maybe a day.  Was that your mission?   I’ve got some…  broken ribs…”

Chris’ mouth was on his before he could talk further.  “Stop talking,” he ordered him again and uncuffed his hands before using the side least injured to hold him up.  “You can cuss me out after we get you to the hospital.”

“Was that your mission?”  Leon couldn’t find the energy to force them to stop so he could demand eye contact long enough to force an answer.  “You’re doing that thing… where you have that aura of self loathing…”

“Yeah.”  It was a different kind of muzzle; Guilt could shut you up and shut you down faster than a t-shirt and a crowbar and Chris was the number one customer of that type of silence.

Leon leaned into him more.  “Stop that.”   He did his best to walk on his own weight but his legs felt like jelly.  “You got ‘em, right?  Cleared the board?”

Chris pressed a kiss to Leon’s temple and kept on walking him down the hall towards the exit.  “Yeah,” he whispered.  “Got every last one of ‘em.”

[ahmementos]

The Looming Death Sentence In An Absently Spoken Declaration

Febuwhump Day 2 : Flinching

Ao3 link for the adults who want a dash of porn

When presented with words of comfort and adoration, Leon flinched.

The romance novel term, he knew from first hand experience reading such trash, would have been winced.  Normal people, even ones with PTSD in their personal resume, would have instinctively reacted to a hand coming at them too fast or a loud noise startling them out of whatever thoughts they were sucked into.  Not Leon.  All it took was a man exposing his most raw and vulnerable emotions at him at 3 AM.

“Jesus, Leon, you okay?”  The man in question battled with his own demons and took the physical reaction as a reason to back away and give Leon space. 

What had Chris said in the early morning hours between dusk and dawn to cause such a reaction?  I can’t lose you.  In a backwater motel on an undercover assignment, declarations of love and desire hit harder than any bullet, deeper than any claw from some monstrosity three times their size or bigger.  

“People don’t say that to me.”  He thought of the half finished bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, to the pile of clothes haphazardly tossed on the floor as they’d made their way to the bed hours before.  It felt like a trap.  Those words felt like an omen, a harbinger of the bad things to come.  

“I’m saying them.”  

Leon flinched against the hand that reached out to touch his face and he grabbed hold of Chris’ wrist so he didn’t recoil away when he did.  He wouldn’t say out loud that his luck insisted Chris would die during the mission because he said that shit out loud.  He didn’t mention that it was the first time he knew what warmth and affection felt like, when all he ever had to compare it to were words said as an afterthought that never panned out… usually because the person who said them died shortly thereafter or because the end result would be they were going to kill him if they stuck around.  

“All I do is lose people.”  Whispered truths in the darkness were the only comforts he’d ever indulged in that didn’t involve that amber colored liquid in an overpriced bottle.  

Chris’ other hand reached up and now he was good and truly anchored with no escape.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

You could.  Leon gripped Chris’ other wrist and hoped to God it was enough to keep him safe.  You probably will.